


What doesn't kill you (will hopefully try harder next time)

by Halfpint



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfpint/pseuds/Halfpint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the first time for Timothy to really, actually get hurt on the job, and he handled it about as well as he had handled pretty much anything ever since he set foot on Elpis.</p><p>Wilhelm is determined to help Timothy help himself - even if it kills him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What doesn't kill you (will hopefully try harder next time)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, whew, this is the first fanfic I am uploading in a whopping five years and I am extremely nervous.  
> It's not the best thing I've ever done, but probably (hopefully) not the worst thing either. I apologize already for any unnecessary swearing and the fact that I can't make dialogues flow naturally for my life.  
> Hope you still enjoy!

It was the first time for Timothy to really, actually get hurt on the job, and he handled it about as well as he had handled pretty much anything ever since he set foot on Elpis. He fell down, began to scream and dropped his gun to try and stem the bleeding with his bare hands.  
The Scav that he had failed to spot kept shooting at him and a few bullets came within inches of hitting him again, but Timothy didn’t even really notice. For all he cared, they could just straight up blow his head off, if only that meant that the pain would go away. Before they could do him the favour, though, a giant shadow flew over Timothy and riddled the Scav, that was still shooting at him, with bullets and killed him before even touching the ground again. In a different situation it would have probably been pretty damn impressive, but at this point he couldn’t even give two shits if it was a pink pandoracorn with a gun or just a member of a rivaling gang of Scavs, because whatever they could do to him could not possibly be worse than what he was currently experiencing. He just continued to double over and scream his lungs out in pain and fear. He wanted it to be over, he wanted the pain to stop, but at the same time he was also afraid of dying at the hands of a psychopathic, seven foot tall Scav. The giant shadow came closer, Timothy could hear his steps approaching and in his panic he began to plead: “Please, no, oh god, fuck, please, no! I don’t want to die on a moon, please!”  
“Shut up,” said a familiar gruff voice over him. “You’ll just attract more Scavs.”  
Timothy stopped screaming just long enough to look up. His face lit up a little despite the bullet wound in his stomach when he recognized the person towering over him.  
“Wilhelm!” he gasped. “Quick, please, you gotta help me!”  
“No.”  
“W-what?”  
“No.”  
Timothy began to laugh hysterically.  
“Yeah, that’s, that’s funny, but seriously…” The rest of his sentence was drowned in another anguished moan.  
“You gotta learn how to take care of yourself,” Wilhelm grunted without waiting for him to finish his sentence. “I won’t always be around to drag your pretty little ass out of trouble.”  
Timothy couldn’t believe it. He stared at Wilhelm for a moment, panting heavily, then he burst out: “Fuck you, man! Fuck you! I’m freakin’ dying here!”  
Wilhelm finally condescended to kneel down next to him and for a moment Timothy thought he had actually convinced him to help, but instead of simply slamming a Med Hypo into the younger man he just pushed his shirt up to get a better glance at the wound and gently pressed one of his large fingers against the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. Then he shook his head.  
“You ain’t dying kid. Not yet. You still got… I’d say, ten, fifteen more minutes. More if you calm down right now.”  
“Calm down?,” Timothy screeched. “Calm down?! You’re just leaving me here to die and I’m supposed to calm down?!”  
“I’m not leaving you to die, I’m helping you survive. Calming down is part of that. The faster your heart beats, the faster you bleed out. Simple as that.”  
Timothy tried. He really did. He tried to tell himself that he was in good hands, that Wilhelm wouldn’t just let him die and that he knew precisely what he was doing. He tried to think of nice things, like cute fluffy kittens. Anything, really, to distract him from the stabbing pain in his stomach and the fact that he was slowly bleeding to death and the only other person around had no intention of helping him, as it seemed. He took a few deep, although shaky breaths and wonder of wonders, after a while he could feel his racing pulse slow down a little.  
“Good,” said Wilhelm when he felt like Timothy was calm enough to proceed and pointed over to the poor grease stain that a few minutes ago had still been a healthy human being. “That Scav had a Med Hypo in his pocket. Dropped it when he died. Go get it.”  
By this time, Timothy had completely given up on arguing with Wilhelm. He struggled to get to his legs, but his knees were too shaky and he fell.  
“If you can’t walk, you’ll have to crawl.”  
No other choice, if he wanted to survive this apparently he had to play along with Wilhelm’s little game. Obediently he began to move towards the Scav on his hands and knees, leaving a trail of blood behind on the dusty ground.  
After a few minutes of crawling with nothing to control the bleeding, though, the blood loss took its toll. Timothy collapsed with an undignified yelp and curled up on the icy ground, exhausted and shaking.  
“You’re bleeding out,” Wilhelm’s voice informed him.  
“I KNOW!” Timothy cried, but made no move to keep going.  
“Then move it.”  
“I CAN’T!”  
“Then you’re going to die.”  
It was not a threat, it was a fact. A fact that had been clear to Timothy before Wilhelm told him, but hearing it so straightforwardly from somebody else’s mouth made him realize even more what kind of situation he was in. If he wanted to survive, he had to keep going. So he gritted his teeth, mobilized whatever strength he had left and began to move forward again, dragging himself towards his target, his forearms already scraped to the bone. He could taste blood.  
“Almost there.”  
Again, only a fact. Not words of encouragement.  
And when Timothy was just about to give up for good, when he thought he couldn’t move another inch, his fingers finally met with the touch of rough, dusty fabric. He lifted his head as good as he could and saw the dead Scav’s dead body lying directly in front of him, the Med Hypo only inches away from his left hand. He picked it up with shaky fingers and held it up for Wilhelm to see.  
“Made it,” he grinned weakly.  
“Almost.”  
The smile vanished from Timothy’s face. Of course Wilhelm wouldn’t just take over here.  
“I have to inject it myself?” he asked feebly.  
“I won’t always be around,” Wilhelm repeated. At least he was kind enough to help Timothy prop himself up against the Scav’s dead body.  
“Alright,” Timothy mumbled, already half-delirious. “Gonna do it. Gonna stab myself with a needle. No big deal.”  
After all, what were the alternatives? Just sit here and die when he had come so close to surviving this?  
Just keep breathing. Easy does it.  
“Do it already!”  
And Timothy did. He had no idea how, but when he looked up again, he was surprised to find Wilhelm with an almost friendly expression.  
“Proud of ya, kid.”

That night, Timothy kept mostly to himself, which was unusual, since he normally used to spend the evenings working on his Jack-impression, blatantly hitting on each and everyone unlucky enough to come within a five foot distance of him.  
That night, however, he sat alone in a booth in Moxxi’s Up Over Bar, toying around with a bottle of beer, and sulked.  
Wilhelm had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t play babysitter for the kid any longer, but somehow he felt that he was responsible for him in this situation, and so he grudgingly slipped into the booth opposite of Timothy and gave him what he hoped was an uplifting nod.  
“Alright?” he asked.  
“Sure,” Timothy answered in an unusually high-pitched voice, his eyes still fixed on the bottle in his hands.  
“You don’t look alright.”  
“I’m peachy, Wilhelm. The world is my oyster.”  
Wilhelm rolled his eyes and was already about to leave, since, really, the kid was fine, he said so himself, what else could he be expected to do? – But the last second Timothy held him back.  
“Listen, I’m… I’m sorry I put up such a scene back then,” he said sheepishly. “I guess, I’m not really fit for life on Elpis.”  
“Bullshit,” Wilhelm grumbled and reluctantly sunk back into his seat. “Nobody’s fit for life on Elpis. This rock isn’t meant to be lived on. The people who do just learned how to make do.”  
“Yeah… right,” Timothy said, but he didn’t look very convinced.  
“Listen. You’re sitting here right now because you didn’t die today. The trick is to keep doing that every day for the rest of your life.”  
Timothy raised an eyebrow.  
“That’s your advice?”  
Wilhelm shrugged as he got up.  
“Take it or leave it.”


End file.
